


i felt it shelter to speak to you

by gealbhan



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Developing Relationship, Epistolary, F/F, Femslash February, Friends to Lovers, Long-Distance Friendship, Post-Canon, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), implied claude/lorenz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-22 17:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22453045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealbhan/pseuds/gealbhan
Summary: After everything, Hilda and Marianne write to each other.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56
Collections: FE Femslash February 2020





	i felt it shelter to speak to you

**Author's Note:**

> originally, this was meant to be written for marihilda week (day 2: jewelry/future/long distance), but i didn't finish it in time, so instead it's for fe femslash february day 20: letter!
> 
> warning for some implications of past suicide ideation (canon-typical for marianne) throughout, though nothing too heavy.
> 
> title from an emily dickinson letter. enjoy!

Marianne,

Okie-dokie, first things first, I am SO sorry it’s taken me so long to write to you like I promised! It’s been sooo busy back here at Goneril, and until now, every time I’ve gotten free time, I’ve been so drained that it’s taken effort to so much as get into bed.

But! I’ve got time now! Yippee! Ugh, my brain is sorta all over the place right now with how totally worn out I am, so I’m also sorry for how disorganized all of this will be. But you’re used to that from me already, yeah? You can’t reply to my face, so I’ll just say “yeah” for you!

Basic life update: It’s been super duper boring here. It’s kinda refreshing—a break was all I wanted back during the war, though I don’t think this qualifies as a break—but it’s also sorta weird, you know, to go from fighting all the time to just… nothing but bouts of political discourse now that we can unfuck everything and all of the menial work that’s made me so exhausted. Not that I miss combat, obviously (yikes! I have nightmares about those ugly Demonic Beasts sometimes still where I wake up sweating, and you know how I feel about sweating), but, well, it’s a bit of an adjustment period. Are you feeling the same sort of thing?

I haven’t heart much from our other friends about that, so I guess I’m just curious. Next time we see each other, maybe we should spar for old time’s sake. And then you can fix me up when all is said and done. Normally I wouldn’t look forward to something like that, but I can’t help but grin at the thought of seeing you again no matter the circumstances.

Anyway, speaking of our friends: I’ve gotten to write to almost everyone so far, but I’m still working on a letter to Claude, and I’ve only gotten responses from Raphael and Leonie so far—nothing from Lysithea or Ignatz (or the professor, for that matter, though I haven’t written to them either, since I’m not expecting much) yet. Raphael has been spending a lot of time fixing up his family’s inn with Ignatz, and Leonie’s taken over Jeralt’s old mercenary troop. I don’t understand the appeal, obviously, but good for them. I’ve at least had enough time to still make some accessories, so I’ve been sending them things as often as I can.

Lorenz has been writing to me a ton too! Though it’s… mostly to tell me stuff he doesn’t have the balls to say to Claude himself. I swear, that guy. I’m going to start writing RETURN TO SENDER on all of his envelopes if he sends me one more poem about Claude’s eyes.

I think he said something about writing to you, too, but I have no clue if he’s even sent anything to you yet. If not, consider this a warning. His letters are always, like, miles long. And way too poetic for me to spend less than a week reading, by which time he’s already sent at least two more. I think he must be bribing the wyvern mail service people.

Anyway! Enough about those chucklefucks. How has life been treating you, Marianne? You’re back in Edmund now—which, I literally can’t imagine how that must be—so how is it there? Are you adjusting well enough? Are you getting enough to eat? I hope you’re not being made to do as many chores as me. Sure, I don’t like laboring away, but I can handle it well enough—somehow, I wish I could be there to help you out.

You brought Dorte with you, right? I can’t say I connected with him much, but since he means so much to you, how’s that old horse doing? Get any more “friends” knocked up? …That was kinda gross, so you don’t have to answer that, but, uh, good luck if the answer is yes. Give him some sugar cubes for me or something.

Not to be cliche, but I do hope this finds you well. Not gonna lie, I’ve missed you a lot! It’s also going to take some time to get used to spending time apart from all of the Golden Deer after such a long time basically glued to each other’s sides. And waiting for a response might drive me bonkers. Maybe Lorenz has a point.

Ugh, hold on, my big brother is reading over my shoulder. Take the dang hint, Holst!

I guess I should too and end this here, because I don’t think I actually have much more to say. Well, I do, if only to make up for lost time, but I don’t want you to be too overwhelmed.

Hey, okay, I’ll leave you with this: There’s something for you along with this! If you’re reading my letter, you’ve probably already found it in the envelope, but let me know what you think! I really hope you like it.

Kisses,  
Hilda

*

Dear Hilda,

Oh, how my heart soared when I saw that you had written to me. According to the date on your letter, it’s been several weeks since it was written—I received it two evenings ago, and I’ve been formulating my response since, so I apologize for my lateness.

As hoped, your letter did find me well, if only because it found me at all. I realize how hypocritical this must sound after my apology, but you don’t need to worry about how late you write to me as long as you write to me at all—I would be delighted to hear from you at any time, Hilda.

I’ve been faring well enough, though I share your concerns about adjusting to everyday life after the war. It’s something to go from fighting the reanimated King of Liberation one week to unpacking your things in your room at home the next, isn’t it?

I can’t quite express the feeling in words, but I do share your sentiments about something deep in you wanting to fight if only for the sense of normalcy—I know that things are normal now, but I suppose I gained a new sense of “normal” during the war. Being chased by Demonic Beasts was familiar enough, but dealing with regular duties that don’t involve fighting off bandits at some point or interacting with people who haven’t gone through the same things as me is somehow difficult now.

Aside from all of that, though, all has been well, if as busy as you reported you’ve been. My adoptive father and I have been talking more. It’s strange to plan for a future I hadn’t wanted until recently, but if I’m to be the next Margrave Edmund, I must become more aware of the duties that title entails. It’s quite interesting to learn more about his position. I’ve never been all that close with my adoptive father, to be honest, and though we aren’t connecting much on an emotional level, I’m growing more confident in my ability to take his place one day.

You’re lucky—your brother was the heir, so you don’t have to worry much about those things. Oh, but I guess you still have a lot to live up to under the Goneril name, don’t you? I apologize for my carelessness.

Thank you for asking about Dorte! He’s quite well, and I’m sure he’ll love to hear that you asked about him. He resides in the Edmund stables now, so it’s not that different from having him around at the monastery, but, well, I’m not riding him into battle anymore. I imagine he appreciates that. I’ll tell him that the apple I bring to him tonight is from you.

I’m sorry to hear that you’ve had to be so active—I hope things clear up soon, especially your nightmares. I’m no stranger to such horrid dreams, so if you’d like to confide in me, feel free, although I can’t say I’ll be very good at offering advice or anything to that extent—or even listening, for that matter, but I can try my best!

That said, if your responsibilities outweigh your spare time, please don’t put me before your wellbeing. I would rather miss one letter from you than miss you for the rest of my life because I somehow got you in trouble or you overworked yourself. I imagine you’ll get yourself out of things somehow before you’re made to work quite that hard, but still. Look after yourself, all right, Hilda?

In response to another of your questions: I’ve not heard from any of the others yet, though I’ll let you know when I have. I’ll keep an eye out for Lorenz’s writing, as per your warning. I was concerned with the silence, but it’s not been very long since we parted ways, and—as I can now say from experience—writing letters is a very arduous task.

Though I must admit I long to see you in person once more, letters do have a certain grace to them. I’ve grown more confident in my voice as of late, thanks to you—and everyone else, particularly Claude and the professor, but your contributions aren’t without note—but I’ve always been more comfortable writing than speaking. Not having to look someone in the face makes me more confident, however marginally, about my words themselves.

For example, something I would be too shy to admit in person is that I’m drinking a lovely cup of tea as I write this, and— _[Note: The writing cuts off here, replaced by a dark stain. When it picks up again on the next page, the ink is a different color.]_

I’m sorry! I spilled tea on the corner of the previous page, and I didn’t want to subject you to any more sogginess, but I don’t believe I’ll have the time to rewrite everything I’ve already written, so I’m starting over on this page. I guess I’m still as clumsy as you say.

What I wanted to say is that I was drinking tea while writing (which I won’t be doing again), and I couldn’t think of anything but sitting across a table from you again. I’m still thinking of it, though I no longer have my tea. I never thought I would say this, but I’m looking so forward to seeing you in person again, whenever that will be. Even if it’s to spar, as you suggested.

Oh, I just remembered! Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for the gift you sent with your letter. I will wear the necklace with pride for the rest of my days—I’ve known of your craftswomanship for some time, but it never ceases to impress me just how skilled you are. I’ve never been very interested in sparkly things like you are, but the gem in the center of the pendant particularly intrigues me. Its rosy shine reminds me of your eyes. Where did you get it from, if you don’t mind me asking?

I, of course, don’t want to distract you from any of your important duties or anything, but… well, I have to admit that I’ll be waiting in anticipation for your next correspondence.

Sincerely,  
Marianne von Edmund

*

Marianne,

Oh, gosh, you’re so formal! It’s not a bad thing at all, but it is kind of unnerving. Like, I know letters are supposed to be all formal and elegant and shit, but that’s just not my Thing, you know? As you’ve probably guessed by now.

It’s still been pretty boring here, so I don’t have much to update you on, but I felt like I had to write back soon. Not because of anything you said, so don’t worry, but because hearing from you seems to have brought to life some part of my stupid brain that exists only to communicate with you. Which isn’t, like, bad, but it is distracting!

Oh! I got a letter from Lysithea the other day, and she said—hold on let me grab the letter so I can quote Lady Ordelia herself—okay, she said: “While I hardly mind receiving mail from the likes of you, endeavor to make your writing less sloppy and more readable the next time you pen a letter.” Can you believe that? I mean, I DID make my writing messier than usual to see if I could get under her skin, and she actually replied after that so it couldn’t have been that bad, but still.

I’ve still been hearing from the others, too—Ignatz even sends his well wishes your way. He wasn’t sure if he could send mail to you because of Margrave Edmund’s whole deal, and he wasn’t sure of the exact address anyway. Do you mind if I give it out?

BTW (that means “by the way.” Say it like bee-tee-dubs), Holst has still been so annoying. I’m a little less busy now because my parents have gotten used to the novelty of having me around and sitting on my ass for as much of the day as they’ll let me, but he’s taken that as an opportunity to bug me and drag me into all sorts of meetings just because I was, like, technically a military commander or something. So obnoxious!!!

Ugh, I’m hoping for some sort of ball or something. A classy noble even, but something I’ll actually have fun at instead of falling asleep at. I’ve had too much of all these dinners and negotiations. Like, we know we won the fucking war! Kind of hard to ignore something like that! Now stop talking for hours about all of the hard work we did while you guys were up in your ivory towers like it was something all of Fódlan contributed to.

…Jeez, saying that makes me feel like Claude. Like I wouldn’t have swapped places with most of them in a heartbeat.

Okay, ignore my rant. I’m a little worn out right now—it’s nothing to do with you, Marianne! In fact, even though it’s only Tuesday, I think writing this is going to be the highlight of my week. Scratch that, my month.

It’s good to hear that you (and Dorte) have been doing well! And that you’ve been feeling the same sorts of things as I have. I’ve heard from enough of the other Golden Deer that I know they’re experiencing that sort of listlessness too. I mean, it’s not good that we’re all going through this, but I guess it’s good to know that we aren’t alone in it.

About the whole margrave thing… your adoptive father doesn’t have any biological children or other relatives that could take his place? Not that I don’t have faith in you—I’m sure you’d make a fantastic Margrave Edmund—but you seem kinda neutral about the whole thing. If you’re not going to be content doing something, why do it, y’know?

Moving on! Don’t worry, my folks wouldn’t let me neglect my duties to write to you. I wish they would, but unfortunately, if I really have to do anything, I’m gonna be dragged off by the ear or get reamed for ignoring it. And my mental health is fine otherwise. The nightmares are a pain in the ass, but I can handle them on my own for now—if I change my mind, I’ll let you know, though, and thanks for worrying. You’ve been a great listener in the past, so I expect you’d still be a nice shoulder to lean on.

I’m taking plenty care of myself, thanks. Are you? You’ve certainly seemed peppier than you used to be, but if anyone knows about putting up a front like that, it’s me. Don’t feel like you have to do that with me.

On a lighter note: For what it’s worth, I adore your voice. It’s cute! Soft, which suits you, but it’s grown stronger and fuller since we first met. “Cute” was sorta demeaning, wasn’t it? Let me correct myself: It’s beautiful. I really like hearing it, and while obviously your basic presence is what I miss the most, not being able to listen to you talk is a definite downside as well.

You’re probably not talking about your literal actual voice, I’ve just realized, but you know how lazy I am. I just can’t bring myself to cross out all of those fawning words.

Your handwriting is super nice, though, too! Way cleaner and more elegant than mine, though the tea stain (you don’t need to apologize—it’s charming!) and parts where I can see your hand slipped or you pressed a little too hard and made an ink blot only add to the charm.

I hope you can grow more confident in your writing and voice alike. I’ll be there to boost your ego whenever you want. I’ve had a lot of practice with that.

Oh, and I’m really glad you liked my present! I don’t think I’ve made anything for you before, so I was really stressing about what to make for a while. My letter was three-quarters written for, like, days because I had to figure out what to send. I like to think I did pretty well on it, though, so I’m happy that you felt the same. Wearing it “for the rest of your days” is a bit much, but I’ll take the compliment.

The gem, huh? Come to think of it, I don’t know where I got it—I think I must have bought it from a merchant on the way home or something, because if I remember correctly, it didn’t look cheap. And comparing it to my eyes—you’ve gotten too charming for me to handle, Marianne!!!

Also, don’t worry about distracting me. I’d love nothing more, especially if it’s you writing to me. I’m looking forward to just the same thing, to be honest—and I, too, will be happy to have tea with you again someday soon.

My brother isn’t reading over my shoulder this time, but I should still probably wrap things up here. I did say I didn’t want to overwhelm you, so I should stick to that. Ciao!

Thoughtfully,  
Hilda

*

Hilda,

I have to admit, I could be a little less formal. You’ve been so open with me, after all, that it feels strange to act as stiff as I naturally tend to be. I’ll try my hardest to match your pace; you’ve always moved much faster than I, whether literally or metaphorically, but you’ve also always lagged behind to allow me to catch up, so I must thank you for your patience. How about this: Hey there! How’s it going?

I’m happy to hear about the other Golden Deer—your mail arrived alongside letters from Claude, Lorenz, Raphael, and Leonie. You have my full permission to pass my information along to Ignatz (though if he’s spending time with Raphael, I assume he knows it already), as well as the message that I would enjoy hearing from him. I’m not so good at initiating conversations like this, so I’ll wait patiently for his and Lysithea’s letters.

Have you heard from the professor at all? I expect they have plenty of things to do, being the leader of all of Fódlan nowadays, so I wouldn’t want to burden them in any way, but they helped so much during our academy days and the war alike that I would like to keep in touch with them.

It’s always the best, though, to hear from you. I even saved the best for last and kept your letter to read after everyone else’s. Relief overwhelmed me when I read that my letters weren’t distracting you too much and that they’ve even offered a brief respite from everyday life—and, as you put it, that we aren’t alone. As isolated as I have been comfortable being, it’s hard not to get lonely out here, so it feels nice to connect with my friends over such experiences.

In regards to my adoptive father: No, Margrave Edmund has no biological heir. I believe he had a child who died some years ago, but otherwise, I believe myself to be his only living blood relative, and we’re distant enough that I would have no claim to his title had he not taken me in.

And while I may be coming across as somewhat unsatisfied with my future, that isn’t the case—I promise you, I would no longer seal myself to a fate I disliked so strongly. Most of my duties have to do with the keeping of Edmund territory. I’ve loved nature for long enough that that aspect will come easily; when it comes to the political and interpersonal duties I must carry out, I’m less confident, but again, I’ve found myself quite enjoying my adoptive father’s tutelage. I’ll enjoy a fair amount of freedom as well.

In effect, I’ll live a similar life to the one I lead now, only with more responsibilities. I may have balked at this years ago, not wanting to mess things up, but now I am nothing but resolute, if still somewhat apprehensive. It’s a big job, but with any luck, I won’t have to take it on for years to come. Don’t worry too much about my future, Hilda; yours is important as well.

And yes, I have been taking care of myself. Admittedly, sometimes I get too caught up in my work and studying to eat or get fresh air, but I’m working on it, especially with you to remind me. Us looking out for each other in such a manner is an unexpected but not welcome outcome of our correspondence. I swear to you that I’m being as honest as I can in my writing in regards to how I have been conveying my mental state, and I hope that you’ve been doing the same.

Thank you for the kind words about my voice and handwriting. I was indeed leaning more toward the metaphorical, but I appreciate your sentiments regardless. I doubt I’ll be seeking you out for “ego boosting,” as you’ve put it, but I won’t protest your compliments. I am proud to say that I’ve grown enough to suppress my gut urge and accept compliments rather than dismissing them out of hand—it still feels somewhat wrong, but I’m working on it.

I apologize if I came on too strong about the necklace. No one has made anything like it for me before, so I suppose I overreacted a little—but I believe my thoughts stand, as I’m wearing it while I write this, and I have been wearing it even in sleep.

My adoptive father seemed pleased to see me wearing it as well. It was befitting of my status, he told me. To be honest, I don’t care much about that—all that matters to me is that you made it. It feels almost as if a piece of you is hanging around my neck, always with me even when you’re thousands upon thousands of miles away.

I wish that I had anything to make for you in return, but I have naught but my words. I hope that they will suffice, even though I know they mean little compared to your thoughtful, hand-crafted gifts.

The hour grows late, and I promised Dorte (still doing well) I would take him out on one last ride before I went to bed. It was, as always, lovely to hear from you, but he does come first in most situations. As always, I look forward to your response.

Sincerely,  
Marianne

*

Marianne,

It seems like Dorte has become my latest rival! You make me feel like the ill-fated antagonist of a love triangle, vying for a lovely maiden’s hand only to be bid out by her childhood friend, who happens to be a duke in disguise. Or, in this case, a horse.

Just kidding—not that you need my permission in the first place, but spend all of the time you want with him. You’ve earned your peaceful days in the sun, and if I can’t be there to share them with you, at least you’ve got one friendly mammal with luscious hair and powerful legs by your side.

It might actually be weirder to see you writing as casually as you started off. In retrospect, whatever makes you the most comfortable makes me the most comfortable. You don’t have to force yourself to be something you aren’t for me—I like you all of the ways you are, Marianne.

Oh, and your words are more than enough for me; the accessories I make for my friends are done purely out of the goodness of my heart! Besides, you could say that your letters are homemade gifts too. They sure make me feel warm and fuzzy. I can’t exactly carry them around with me to remind me of you—even with the pockets I’ve stitched onto all of my clothes, I don’t think I would be able to fit them all—but I can at least hold them in my heart.

Or maybe I could do something cool with the pieces of paper, like turn them into some sort of pendant? I’m going to write that idea down. I think jewelry like that could be cool—wearing around letters and shit is definitely less weird than keeping hair in a locket, at least. Did you know that my mother actually used to wear a piece of my dad’s hair around in a necklace? SO WEIRD.

Anyway! It’s good to hear that you’ve been in contact with our friends, and I’ll definitely give Ignatz the go-ahead. How was Lorenz’s writing? Did he wax poetic about either you or Claude? Because I’ve gotten nothing but that, but I expect he would be a little more respectful to you. You’ve always been someone to protect among us.

Not in, like, a weird way! Or in the “little sister” way a lot of us projected onto Lysithea. It’s just—well, you know how I used to help you out with chores and stuff like that. You used to be so quiet that we hardly knew how to act around you, and I think a lot of us sorta pushed your boundaries; I like to think that it was enough that you grew more comfortable without being forced, but we might have gone overboard sometimes. So I’m genuinely sorry for that. It seemed like you had a rough go of things, and I apologize for trying to shove you out of your comfort zone without asking.

Also, please, I’m sure the professor would love to hear from you!! You were totes one of their favorites (along with me, because who doesn’t love me?), so I’ll let you know if they contact me or Claude or anything.

I trust you more than I can say, so though I want to be skeptical on the principle of not being able to physically verify your claims, I believe your reassurances that you’ve been looking after yourself. And I totally agree—I’m glad that we’ve shifted toward such a dynamic almost by instinct. It’s almost like a lighter-hearted version of the way we all looked out for each other during battle. If I can’t shield you from enemy blasts with my clunky armor and you can’t heal up my magic wounds, at least we can encourage each other to eat, sleep, and drink!

I’ll also trust that you’re telling the truth about your outlook on your future as Margrave Edmund, too. And in that case, it seems like it’ll be a great job for you—the perfect way to foster your combat abilities, love of plants and animals, and burgeoning social skills alike! Now that I’m not as worried about how you feel about it, I know that you’ll do a superb job. I’m not crossing my fingers for your adoptive father to kick the bucket soon or anything, but still, I can’t wait to see you in action, Lady Edmund.

You mentioned my future, so I thought I’d tell you that I’ve actually been thinking about it. Like, a lot. As much as I’d like to, I don’t think I can leech off of my parents and Holst for the rest of my life. (For one, with how much older Holst is, he’s bound to croak long before I do.)

So I’ve been compiling some ideas. Politics make me sick to my stomach, obviously, and becoming the trophy wife of some emotionally detached noble whose family has even more dough than mine has its appeal, but I’ve been thinking of something else.

You know how much I like making accessories, right? I mean, I made that necklace for you (and I’m glad to hear you still like it), so I doubt you’ve forgotten. Anyway, I was thinking of maybe starting and running a school to teach other people how to do that. Passing on my knowledge for generations to come, y’know? Claude can do that as the King of Almyra, you can do it as Margrave Edmund, and I can do it as Headmistress Goneril! Or, well, I guess “Headmistress Hilda” has more of a ring to it. Heh, “ring.”

I haven’t told anyone else this yet, not even Holst. I mean, I don’t think he wouldn’t like it, but—I dunno, it’s kind of embarrassing to have a dream like this. It’s very out-of-character for me in particular.

But I feel comfortable telling you. No, it’s still embarrassing and makes me nervous, but—I want to. I want to let you know what’s going on with me, since you’ve been so forthcoming about how your life is going and what you want to do in the (not near, but far more so than we’d like to think) future.

Keep in mind that it’s still just an idea. I don’t even know how to go about founding an academy or anything like that. I’d need to work my ass off, probably. That’s never been my strong suit, but I dunno, if it’s for something I’m as interested in doing as this, maybe I can figure something out. And I really am super genuinely interested in it, which is so! Weird!!

Ugh, now that I’m talking about it, it seems so weird. Would anyone even want to come? For the lessons, I mean, not just my presence, which obviously people would want to bask in. Not only am I THE Hilda Valentine Goneril, but I’m also, like, a war hero now!

Ick, bad jokes. I’m really off my game today. Well, for what it’s worth, I think you should know what I’m planning to do with my life before anyone else. Come to think of it, you might be my closest friend… I mean, I love Claude and the professor and all of the others, but you’re different. In a good way, duh! I want you in my life as long as possible, I guess, so it only seems natural to update you on my plans in life.

Welp, I’m going to end things here before I can second-guess myself too much. I think I have some pretty bad cabin fever, so I might go for a walk to cool down. Still missing you!

Air hugs,  
Hilda

*

Hilda,

I intended to respond to your pleasantries the way I have been for our last several letters, but any replies left my mind almost entirely once I got to the climax of your letter. My reaction was positive, of course—and while some part of me wonders at the decision, your choice to confide in me fills me with pride and joy.

If my heart flew when I opened your first letter, then it leapt past the clouds and into the heavens upon hearing of your plans for the future. What a pleasant surprise it was to hear your ideas. (Aside from becoming a “trophy wife.” I would support you no matter what, Hilda, but I have to politely advise against that—you’ve encouraged me to not live a life that would disappoint me, so I must return the favor.)

I don’t think your plan to open an academy dedicated to teaching people how to make accessories is embarrassing or weird. It sounds incredible. I have little interest in the art form myself, but I know plenty would wish to attend—as you said, you’re a war hero, and if people come for your presence alone, maybe they’ll grow to love the crafting that you teach.

And as for the work that would go into it—you’ve had no problem doing so in the past, so why not rely on your friends? Raphael and Leonie would be delighted to help with the physical construction, and with your physical physique, you should have no problem with that either. Claude, Lorenz, Ignatz, and Lysithea—not to mention the professor—could use their influence to spread word of your school. There isn’t much I can do—even as the margrave, I won’t have much social standing at first, and I’ve never been good with overly physical tasks—but there is one thought on my mind.

I’ve always been more confident in my ability to write than speak. So perhaps it’s the Goddess’s will that I can’t bring myself to say these things to you in person quite yet—both _can’t_ in the sense that I don’t have the ability to, with the distance between us, and _can’t_ in the sense that I think my throat would close up were I to attempt saying it while looking into your eyes. My writing still isn’t the most eloquent, though, especially when you can’t read it because my pen keeps slipping, so please bear with me.

You’ve always looked out for me, haven’t you? Back at the monastery, when all of the time I tried so hard to escape other people’s notice, you paid close attention to me—helping me with chores, encouraging me to participate in group discussions, generally being there. It unsettled me at first. But I grew to appreciate it; you’ve always been careful with me in a way you’ve been rough around others.

I would like to repay your kindness. I know you would say it doesn’t matter so long as we’re friends, but after all of this time, it only seems right to thank you for offering me a hand when I was at rock bottom. Therefore, once I become the margrave, I’d like to serve as the financial patron of your conceptual school.

Forgive me if I’m misstepping, but I wish to make my intentions clear: I want to help you in any way possible, Hilda. Monetary assistance will be easy with my position, and if it’s for a cause like yours, I’ll be more than happy to lend a hand (full of gold).

But selfishness drives my motivations as well, I must admit. Over the time we’ve known each other, we’ve both grown—as individuals and as friends alike. And over time, my feelings for you, too, have evolved.

This embarrasses me to say—especially so soon—but I’ve come to care for you more than anyone else (save perhaps Dorte, but in a much different way). Forgive me for saying it so brazenly, but… I love you, Hilda. To be more precise, I’ve fallen in love with you.

Perhaps that colors my previous letters and my offer to financially support your dream in a different, unpleasant light. I feel that it would be unfair to ask something of you without stopping to confess as much. Your companionship has been a constant in my life, and I don’t wish to lose it, but I also understand if you can’t resume our previous relationship.

I’ll try to explain myself. It seemed to be a fall as slow but steady as the leaves in fall, except instead of drifting to the ground, I soared upward. Something, it seemed, was building back at the monastery, but I wasn’t in the right place to pursue anything like friendship, let alone romantic love—but when we reunited five years later, we had both changed, and though I still wasn’t ready, I allowed my mind to wander sometimes. To your smile; the musculature of your arms; the way your hair curled out against your freckled cheeks; the way you looked out for me in battle; how you drank tea with your middle finger out instead of your pinkie; your simultaneous crude speech and caring tone; how gentle you were whenever you assisted me; how _often_ you assisted me; your unerring loyalty to the Golden Deer.

You are so passionate and cheerful—I know it seems strange to say, but in a way (in many ways), you’ve inspired me. I wouldn’t have even thought of someday inheriting my adoptive father’s title rather than fading into obscurity or worse if not for your words of encouragement and selfless gestures of kindness. You believe in me when I didn’t—couldn’t—believe in myself.

It isn’t simply what you’ve done for me, but what you do for everyone else—and who you are. Your skill as a craftswoman is admirable, and your demeanor even more so, no matter what others may think of it. It’s not that you become a different person around me, but I like to think that the person you are around me is your truest self rather than the one you put on for the benefit of other people. I like that person the best, at least, though I share your sentiment of not wishing you to force yourself to be anyone but yourself around me.

All of that said, in no way are you required or expected to return my feelings. I wouldn’t blame you for a second—that isn’t self-deprecation on my behalf, but respect. But I have grown bolder since we met, and I didn’t wish to enter a partnership under a pretense of my intentions. If you are to accept my offer, I wish for it to be with this knowledge in mind.

To borrow a phrase from you: I hope that this finds you well, regardless of the tone of your response.

As sincerely as I can express,  
Marianne

*

Dearest Marianne,

Wow, your letter took me by surprise—the good kind, don’t worry, but I’m not an easily surprised woman. I had to wait for my hands to stop shaking (again, in a good way) to write this so that you’d actually be able to read it. Thank me later, okay?

Where do I even begin to write a response? You’ve reached into the depths of my heart, it seems, accessing a place I haven’t even acknowledged in, ugh, years. So even though I’m more comfortable speaking than writing, unlike you, I’m going to do my best.

Let’s start at the beginning. Or, I guess, the second beginning. When we reunited at the monastery, I didn’t recognize you at first. It pains me to admit, but I had forgotten everyone’s face, a little. Five years of war can do a number on a person. And you had changed so much—your hair wasn’t very different, nor really your general features (aside from the healthier tan; seriously, sometimes I used to wonder if you were a vampire), but your demeanor was so different that it took me, like, twenty minutes of fighting for my mind to completely clock you as Marianne.

You say I inspire you, but I think you’ve inspired me most of all. You make me work, for the Goddess’s sake, and actually kind of like it!!! What’s the deal?! (I’m not actually mad at you, I’m just being dramatic. Oh! See the type of things you inspire me to say?)

When I first met you, you were shy and uncomfortable. I thought you just needed to come out of your shell a little, so I did look out for you—that, and I thought you were sweet and cute, what can I say! Obviously over time I realized you weren’t all you seemed to be on the surface, but I guess you must have realized the same things about me, huh? A clumsy noblewoman and an inelegant fighter. The two of us make a good team.

And then, obviously, when we met back up again, you had changed so much! I’m not crediting myself for it, but it filled me with pride to see you so confident and happy. It was kind of weird for you to be that happy when we were, like, at war, but I’m not complaining.

I can’t say I’m not disappointed that I didn’t get to watch you grow myself—to see just how you changed from that awkward, gangly teenager to a shining sun of a young woman. But the in-between parts are always so ugly. When I’ve had the patience to read, I’ve always been the type of person to skip to the very end of the story to see what happens. I can’t stand suspense.

This time, I don’t think I can skip to the ending. I have to live out the clunky bits myself. And you know what? I’m actually kind of looking forward to it, as long as it’s by your side.

Marianne, Marianne, Marianne. I’m saying your name aloud every time I write it—it’s been so long since I said it to your face that it feels strange now, even with how much I’ve talked about you to Holst. Ugh, yeah, I know, he doesn’t deserve to hear about you, but I had to talk to someone or I was going to fucking explode. And I clearly couldn’t talk to you about you. I could have, if I had been vague about it, but around you, I have the subtlety of a sledgehammer. And Claude and Lorenz would make too much fun of me even though they don’t really have any room to speak.

Okay! Enough reminiscing. I have something for you. And I don’t think it’s just something that I can just send to you in the mail, as much as I’d love to chicken out like that. Like I said, you make me want to work, and I’ll never forgive you for it.

I think I’m stalling. A really big part of me wants to just never give this Thing to you, or at least never explain what it means—but you’re smart. You would figure it out. It wouldn’t even take you that long.

Marianne—I really, REALLY hope you like this one. It’s sorta special. Okay, not just sorta—it’s super duper special, which is why I’m actually pretty nervous about giving it to you. I’m being vague on purpose about what it is. I know you’re not big on surprises, but I hope you’ll enjoy this one, and you won’t be in suspense for a super long time.

Because—surprise! Another surprise: I’m coming to visit you in Edmund. In other words, I’m coming home, because Goneril hasn’t been my home for a while now—oh, but don’t get me wrong. Edmund isn’t either, nor even Garreg Mach; you are, Marianne. I won’t lie and say that you’ve always been, but over time, you’ve become that to me.

Okay, let’s simplify that: I love you too, Marianne.

Ugh! My stupid hands are shaking again! Sheesh, I dragged around Freikugel for years with no apparent downsides and then my hands start trembling like an old lady’s when I write that. How embarrassing. I bet you’re laughing at me right now, huh? I’ll give you a minute to get it out. Even if you’re laughing at me, I think I can tolerate it because of how sweet the sound of your laugh is. I meant it when I said I adored your voice.

I don’t know when I realized how much I love you, Marianne—it wasn’t sudden, but it wasn’t as slow as you described your fall, either. It was just—there, and I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed it before. And if I hadn’t noticed it before, your benevolent offer (which obviously I’m going to follow you up on, are you kidding?) definitely tipped me over. I’m not as good at waxing poetic as you’ve proven yourself to be, and I don’t think I would want to be (look at what poetry has done to Lorenz), but—well, you make me want to try, at the very least.

…I won’t now, though. I’ll just leave it at this: I love you so much, Marianne, and having your feeling spelled out is nothing short of breathtaking. I don’t care if saying it often diminishes the meaning of it or whatever—all I want to do is lay all my love on you. I love you, Marianne von Edmund. I love you, I love you, I love you!

Oh, jeez, I’m tearing up. Real tears, too, not the crocodile ones I used to get out of chores—too bad I couldn’t do this in front of the professor. I bet they would’ve believed me then.

Anyway, enough of the mushy stuff! To sum it all up: I’m coming to see you! You’d better prepare a hero’s welcome for me.

Then again, it might be too much work to greet all of those adoring fans. So just meet me yourself, okay? I’ll be expecting you. I can’t wait to hear your voice again, to see you and hold you and—well, I guess we’ll figure it out then, won’t see? See you soon!

Love,  
Hilda

**Author's Note:**

> as near as i can tell the feminine form of margrave is margravine, but since this is technically used to refer to wives of margraves, i figured i would just give marianne the Edelgard Treatment and let her use the masc title of her rank as well. my nonbinary agenda!
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading! if you have time to spare, comments and kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> [twitter](http://twitter.com/withlittlequill) | [tumblr](http://infernallegaycy.tumblr.com)


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